


Little Red

by CarnalCoffeeBean



Series: Pendant [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnalCoffeeBean/pseuds/CarnalCoffeeBean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate Argent's seduction (and destruction) of Derek Hale, in pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red

**Author's Note:**

> In case the tags weren't enough, let me clearly state - this work includes: statutory rape; a nightmare in which dubiously consensual sex takes place; depictions of violence; and some really fucked-up emotions and/or views held by characters. Please proceed/enjoy at your own risk.

The first thing she sees is the red hoodie, draped over hunched scarecrow shoulders like it's still hanging on a wire hanger. It's him, Derek Hale: fifteen, werewolf, or at least it fits the description of him that she's been given. The hood is pushed back to reveal a shock of black hair, rounded ears, lips downturned at the corners, and some seriously ridiculous eyebrows. He looks around the classroom, unsmiling, then sits down near the back and pulls out a book. His classmates laugh loudly and talk around him, over him, as he flips through to a dog-eared page and leans back. They leave him alone in his own small eddy of silence, the only such one in the classroom. He senses something off, senses her; his nostrils flare, and his startlingly blue eyes round when he catches her watching him. She smiles, slow and dangerous and just a little too wide to be believed: a predator's smile.

**_Why, hello there, little Red. Pleased to meet you, too._ **

It's not until she's at the pool, watching the splashing kids absent-mindedly from the lifeguard's chair, that she hears his voice: laughing, teasing, a bit high for someone his age, but maybe it hasn't fully- there, it cracks, and he looks around quickly, flushing in embarrassment. She keeps staring, bold, doesn't turn her head when his eyes lock on hers. His eyes travel lower, take in the long, lithe lines of her body, the curves and dips as she watches from the chair, muscles taut with supressed energy, ready to jump, to pounce. Something flits into her line of sight, then darts away. She springs up, walks to the side of the pool, and blows her whistle.  
  
"Hey, you there! No running!" she shouts. The girls at the other end of the pool settle down, brushing off her admonition with rolling eyes. She glances over her shoulder; Red's still watching, eyes glued to the form of her swimsuit.

**_It's okay, little Red. You can look. I want you to._ **

"Hey," she says, all smiles, damp blonde hair pulled up and out of her face. She leans over him as he sits by the pool, maintaining a friendly distance (but apparently it's close enough for him to smell her, she notices, as his nostrils flare; it's almost cute, how he thinks he's doing so well at keeping his secrets. Kid needs to work on his tells.).

"Whatcha studying?" Little Red ducks his head, frowning down at the book in his lap.

"Chemistry." If that isn't a lead-in to a line, she doesn't know what is. She lets it slide, though; he seems the type to be easily spooked, and something that forward could throw the game way too soon. She grabs the book from his lap instead and scans the page.

"Huh," she remarks. Balancing equations: simple enough stuff. "Need help?" He grabs for the book, but pauses at the last second; his hand falls back to his side.

"No, I think I'm good." His face colors as he meets her gaze, the first time he's looked at her since she cornered him on the bench. "Thanks, though." She laughs, hands him back the book as she steps back. Their hands brush; he tenses, blood coloring his face again. (Oh, young love.)

"Alright. If you need any help, you know where to find me." She turns, walks away. Counts the seconds until she can't feel his gaze anymore. (As she turns the corner, his eyes are still hot on the small of her back. Her skin prickles.)

**_I'll play nice, promise, little Red. Why don't you let me in?_ **

There's a knock on her office door several hours later, just as she's thinking of closing up shop for the night. She frowns at the door; no one's ever here this late but her. "Come in," she calls, slipping the knife she keeps at her waist from its sheath as she stands. (It's not likely to be an unfriendly face, but she lives by the Boy Scout's motto: Always be prepared. It's saved her neck more than a few times.) The door swings open to reveal Red, the tips of his ears flushed and a sweet look of determination on his frowny face. Friendly, then; very friendly, indeed.

"Can I help you?" She asks, arching a brow, and he flushes deeper. (Oh, he's so easy to get riled up.) He throws his bag into the chair and mumbles something about Laura (Laura: sister, older, bossy, also wolf, the one he was teasing in the pool) being great at chemistry but crap at explaining it. There's something else, something deeper behind the childish display of frustration, but she doesn't have a chance to do more than note it, because,

"Can you help me?" he asks. He's staring into her eyes, and god, his face is so, so open. It stops her dead in her tracks for a second, because she's never seen anything like it. There's no hesitancy, no pretending, no hiding; every single emotion, hope, trust, arousal, fear, lights up his eyes like they're neon signs, and oh. Oh, Red, honey. You need to learn to protect yourself; you're too easy to rip apart like this, so honest and open and vulnerable.

"Yeah," she says, breaks into a smile, defenses up, because that much honesty isn't something she's used to, isn't something to which she's sure how to respond; "yeah, no problem." She gestures towards an open seat, moves around the desk, and sits down beside him.

"Now, what are you having trouble with?" She bends her head to the page, and her hair sways gently across it, across his arm; he tenses, then forces himself to relax as he points his pencil at the page.

"Here, this. I just don't-" his fingers curl into a fist around the pencil as she moves closer. The pencil starts to groan, bend under the pressure. He drops it like it's on fire and breathes out slowly. She raises her brows, then smiles, because this? A teenaged werewolf with control issues? This is easy. This she can handle.

"Is everything alright?" Her hand covers his, and he startles, looking at her with those eyes again, hiding nothing. He holds her gaze for a few interminable seconds; her breath catches in her throat, and she freezes.

"Yeah, everything's fine." He looks down at the book, and she exhales quietly.

**_Careful, little Red. You've got secrets to keep, remember._ **

It's the third time they've gotten together to study, always at night, when the hallways are silent and empty. He's quiet (he always is, unless there's something to say, and then damnit, he'll say it, no hesitation whatsoever; it takes some getting used to, that kind of open frankness), serious until she teases a smile or a startled laugh out of him. (She's getting better at it, she thinks; he smiles every time he sees her now, ears tinged pink. It could just be the crush, of course, the way he stutters every once in a while or glances down, catches himself looking at her breasts, and jerks his gaze back up to her eyes. But she likes to think that maybe it's a little more than that, that Little Red's warming up to her.) They're studying English this time, and she's bored. English was never her thing; science and math were more suited to her tastes. Red's bored, too; the pencil drums on the table as she tilts her head to look at him, mouth set in an unhappy line.

"Wanna go for a swim?" It startles him; he shakes his head, looks up to meet her gaze.

"I don't have my-" "You've got underwear on, don't you?" She smiles, relaxed.

"Come on, I need a break. I've always hated The Scarlet Letter." She stands, stretches, reveling in the way his eyes follow the arch of her back, the swell of her breasts. He hesitates, mouth hanging open a little. She quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah, ok," he stammers and gets up, all gangly limbs and uncoordinated movements. Kid's not grown into his body yet; it's a shame, really. If he lived to be a bit older, he'd be a looker. She grabs his hand and swings it a little as they walk out the door, toward the pool.

**_Oh, little Red, little Red, come out and play..._ **

They're studying again (math this time, something she can actually understand); they've taken to studying in the pool area at night. It's nice to have an area to call their own. The scent of chlorine fills the air, and the waves reflect onto everything, making Red fuzzily blue, leaving only his eyes undistorted, broadcasting every emotion clearly, like always. He wants to do it, she knows, to lean over and kiss her; it's written in the quick sideways sweeps of his eyes, the terse lines of muscle in his body, the twitching movements of his pressed mouth. The tension is reaching its breaking point, and her legs are jumping, itching for something reckless to do. It breaks; she groans as she stands and strips down to her suit. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, catches him watching her, shoots him a snarky remark and a smile, and plunges in, concentrating on nothing but the feel of the water on her skin, the tensing of her muscles as she slices through. A minute or so later, there's a splash near her. She ignores it and rams into Red's unmoving bulk at full speed. She comes up for air, gasps, looks at him; he's smiling, preening a little, showing off his strength. She laughs, pushes at his chest playfully; he chuckles and grabs at her hands, and then they're kissing, just like that. He's warm and soft, tastes a bit like chlorine and apples; she leans back, but he grabs for her, eyes still closed, holds her a little too tightly against his chest.

"Oh," he says, and opens his eyes. "Oh," he says again, lets her go, searches her eyes with his. She wonders if he's ever been kissed before; the way he's looking at her with those eyes, wide and soft and vulnerable and shocked, she's pretty sure she's his first. She laughs gently, keeps her eyes locked on his; presses back in, then nips gently at his bottom lip.

**_Yes, you're mine, little Red, all mine, and that's all you'll ever be._ **

The inevitable happens a few weeks after that, quick, spreads like wildfire, fumbling hands and burning kisses and pushing at slippery-wet fabric to get at slippery-wet skin underneath. He's young and naive, and thank whatever gods she doesn't believe in for that, that he's too blinded by lust to see anything else. She pushes his head down between her legs sometimes just so she doesn't have to see his bright blue eyes watching her, piercing in their honesty. (It doesn't work, though; he looks up at her, eyes hazed with pleasure, reveling in her taste, in her reactions, seeking connection even in this. His eyes hide nothing, broadcast every fucking emotion, and she groans, presses his head down again, screws her eyes shut and focuses on the physical sensations.) When he enters her, she braces her feet on the bed, pushes against him, moans, groans, screams; his silence, his shock (every time, just like the first time, mouth hanging open, eyes so wide, as if he's forgotten since last time, amazed something could feel so good) shatters with her. She wants to break it, his shock, his openness, his vulnerability, wants to rip apart his honest, trusting face, that quiet, "oh", that falls out of him right after he's pressed all the way into her, right before she shoves back to shut him up. He wants to make love to her, she knows; fingers brush her hair, trace the lines of her stomach, eyes like lamps search her face for a smile, a fond look, some reflection of the emotions he pours out so messily onto the world. She should go along with it; it'd build up his trust quicker, get him to spill his secrets more easily. God, though, no, it's too much to ask; she grits her teeth, nips at his wandering hands, shoves him onto his back, takes him in and rides him, rough, fast, hard, until he screams in release, until his eyes screw shut in overpowering pleasure, and she can breathe, oh, she can breathe again.

After, he wants to- to cuddle, to share in blissed-out happiness, to seek comfort, love, in another body. She lets him, sometimes; tucks her head under his chin, lets him press soft kisses to her hair, trace wandering paths up her spine with his fingertips. He's still soft, vulnerable, in this, but she can't see it this way, the way his eyes light on her like she's beautiful and good and whole, search her like he can find her deepest secrets, like he knows them and doesn't care, his face so open, so honest, so trusting, so easily broken...

**_Oh, little Red. I'll eat you up, I love you so._ **

She's running, running from something, she can't remember; breathing harshly in, exhaling hard, can't stop, won't stop, and then, she hears it, hears the howls. She's alone, and it's Red- Red's found out, he's coming after her, fully wolfed out, claws extended. She takes out her gun, shoots him through, breathes a sigh of relief as he goes down. But then he's back up, the bullets pushing out of his muscles, out of his skin, dropping to the wooden floor with a clatter, growling and advancing slowly, circling her, bright blue eyes following her hands as she grabs at her body for knives that aren't in their straps. She casts around, looking for anything to use as a weapon, but to no avail. He's growling still, low and dangerous, fury emanating from his very bones (and even though she's gasping with terror, can't catch a breath for the fear constricting her chest, she's relieved as well, because this, this pain, this rage, she can at least understand, can herself against). He leaps, swipes a hand across her side. It digs in deep, and blood pours out of the gaping slashes. She screams, slips in her own blood (so much blood, puddled on the floor now, spreading with every second), falls on her hands and knees. The motion jars the wound, spilling more blood onto the floor, and she screams again, pain blocking thought. He advances; she can hear the footsteps, slightly squishy from all the blood. He lifts her up by the neck, growls in her face, fangs fully extended and glistening, eyes glowing bright blue with an unholy fury, bends down to bite her --

\-- and he's above her, around her, in her, fucking into her, Red, her little Red, mouth hanging open, eyes soft and vulnerable and open, so fucking open again. She moans, pushes back; she knows the routine by now, what gets him to go harder, to forget himself, to close his eyes in pleasure, except it doesn't work this time. It doesn't work, and that squeezing feeling's constricting her ribcage again, heart fluttering in her chest, panic seizing her, making her hands tremble, her eyes widen -- She tries again, shoves against him, groans loudly, dramatically. He shakes his head, mouth half in a quiet smile; catches her hands with one of his and forces her legs to straighten with his other hand so that she can't brace herself, can't push back up against him, can't force him to- god, to stop looking at her, so open and honest and raw with emotion as he rocks into her slowly, gently, pulls out just as gently, pushes back in again. His eyes are inescapable; his fingers leave her hands, trace her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her jaw, and no matter how she struggles, whines, screams, begs, pleads, he won't stop the gentle motion of his hips, won't stop the quiet moans that fall out of his mouth, won't stop the kisses dropping onto her skin like dead flies, soft, barely-there pressure, won't stop looking at her with those awful, vulnerable, searching eyes, won't stop, won't stop won't stop won't stop--

She wakes up screaming, heart pounding, muscles tensed. Her gun is out and cocked, safety off, and before she's realized it, she's fired four shots into the mirror across the room. The sound startles her into full awareness. She looks around, sweeps the room for potential threats, and finds nothing but the shattered mirror in front of her, four bullet holes overlapping in a perfect square at the center, a fine web of cracks spreading outwards. She climbs out of bed with shaking limbs and a mouth that can't seem to stop gasping for breath and grabs her gun case. Cleaning the gun, wiping the barrel is methodical work, muscle-memory, mainly; it calms her down like little else. When she's done, she places the gun under her pillow, pulls out the one from inside her sock drawer, and straps her wolfsbane-laced knives over her pajamas. The door is open, and she pushes at it a bit, breath caught in her throat until she checks both sides and the ceiling to ensure she’s alone. The house is quiet (sound-proof walls are wonderful, most nights), and she pads to the kitchen to make some coffee, turn on the tv, and catch up on some reading she's been meaning to do.

**_Little Red, don't you know it's rude to show up somewhere uninvited? I won't tell if you don't, though._ **

The next time he comes over, he leaves his red hoodie behind. She means to keep it, to leave it at his house when she burns it down, but he asks her about it the next day, after school. She's brought it with her; she hands it to him, not quite understanding why she does. He looks it over, then hands it back and tells her to keep it. There's a quiet, not-entirely-human look of satisfaction in his eyes as her fingers close around the soft, red cloth, and she shivers. He glances down the empty hallway (always empty at this time of night), chances bending in close, nose brushing her neck. He inhales, and she freezes; his tongue touches her skin, then licks a long line from the base of her neck to her earlobe and sucks on it gently. She tilts her head back, muscles tense, pretending to bask in the sensation, and he groans; too late, she realizes that it exposes her neck, displays submission. He steps back, nips at her neck softly, runs his nose over it again (smelling her, smelling him on her; does she smell like she's claimed? Like she's enjoying this? Like every muscle in her body isn't telling her to run, run, run while she still can?).

"Keep it," he says again, presses a quick kiss to her barely-parted lips, and walks away.

**_Little Red, you're growing up, growing into this, and I, I can't let you anymore._ **

He tells her the next week, as they're sprawled out in post-coital bliss on her bed, his fingers drifting over her skin, her eyes half-shut. He whispers it like a secret, eyes gleaming in the dimly-lit room; tells her that his family's coming over, there's a cultural celebration he and his family observe, and he's still talking things out with them, but that she might be able to join in some of the festivities; that it'd mean a lot to him if she did. He's so excited, eyes gleaming, words coming in little bursts like fireworks, shooting unsure little smiles at her every now and then. She accepts (how could she not?), tells him she'd love to be there, to meet his family. They'd have to keep it low-key, though; the town knowing they're together might cause some problems. He nods his head in assent, trying to look serious, but oh, his eyes are shining with happiness and excitement and if he were any happier, she thinks, he'd be wagging his tail. He bends down to sniff her neck again and sighs; she pushes him away, laughing, asks if this is going to be a thing now, hoping to distract him from the way her heart's pounding too fast.

"Yeah, kinda." he murmurs, lips moving against her skin, then pushes up on an elbow to look at her with those damned eyes. (Kid still can't hide a thing; that much vulnerability should be a crime.)

"Is it ok?" he asks, steady gaze piercing her, sudden, like a wound, leaving her breathless.

"Of course it's ok," she laughs as she ducks her head under his, distracts him by running her hand along his side. He tucks her into the curve of his body, presses a kiss on top of her head, and hums quietly. She can feel the upturned curve of his lips against her hair and wonders when he's going to tell her; if he's going to offer her the bite. Her heart picks up at the thought, and he tenses, pushes himself back so he can tilt her face up. His eyes search hers, soft, concerned.

"What?" she laughs, swats at his chest, but he keeps looking, eyes like searchlights. She squirms, uncomfortable, teasing smile plastered on her lips, on his as she kisses him, but still he doesn't stop, just pulls back and looks at her with soft, searching eyes. Her heart starts to pick up again, and she can't breathe, he's looking at her, and he can tell, he can tell, he can tell--

He grabs her, presses her into the circle of his arms, and she's gasping and she doesn't know why, but his eyes are gone, his eyes that search her, that spear her with their honesty, that take her apart, that devour her, that hurt more than claws and fangs ever could. They're gone, and she can breathe again, and she does, gasping into his chest. He's rubbing circles into her back, murmuring something soothing in her ear, muscles tense and jumpy and she thinks he's as freaked out as she is, right now. She ducks her head against his chest, focuses her breathing until she's sure she's got herself under control. The smile she paints on her face is soft, as is the kiss she leaves on his lips when she stretches up to meet his (wide, unsure, vulnerable) eyes.

"I'm ok," she says, and laughs a little against his mouth. His brows furrow, but he nods as she settles down against him. She can feel his gaze on her, though, after she closes her eyes and turns away.

**Run, run, little Red, as fast as you can...**

She can't do it as thoroughly as she'd like; Red's somewhere else, and so is his sister, but time is short. She's caught as many as she could inside the house, and she's got another situation waiting for her in Washington. She smooths red lipstick on, presses a kiss to the the front door, and turns away. The house is burning behind her; she doesn't turn back, doesn't watch the flickering flames devour the stately building from bottom to top, doesn't listen to the screams of the monsters as they burn and heal and burn again.

**Oh, little Red, you just wait; someday, I'll watch you burn, too...**

She burns the hoodie, too, for good measure, when she gets to Washington. Her father stands beside her, doesn't ask questions. She throws herself into the mission, and he smiles proudly. A newspaper clipping about the Hale house fire ends up on her bed; after he's sure she's seen it, he hangs it on the refrigerator of the apartment they're renting.

If he can hear her screaming in the middle of the night, he doesn't say anything. He lets her head the charge against the monsters this time, though, steps back as she leads, the way he told her she was always meant to. It makes her forget, for a little bit, the memory of Red's eyes watching her, open and honest and so damn vulnerable; makes her forget her dreams, her nightmares about the monsters burning and screaming, red eyes and red flames entwined in her mind. In the shadows, her father nods to her left. She glances; from the corner of her eyes, she spies a larger body in a leather jacket. Gold eyes gleam in the darkness. She smiles and shifts her weight, crouching down to the asphalt; the creature notices her small movement and leaps out at her. She swings the handgun around in an arc, shoots a wolfsbane bullet dead in the center of his chest. He falls to the ground, and she laughs in triumph, in challenge. The feeling burns through her, feels like power, like control.

It's not enough, not nearly.

But it feels good.

**Author's Note:**

> Huzzah, my first foray into Teen Wolf fic! Ok, so I've not read On Fire (my first Teen Wolf fanfic, and already it's under-researched; clearly, the bar has been set high), so my main information on the canon Kate/Derek relationship is what we've seen on the show and what I've heard from people who have read On Fire.  
> I did not actually mean for this to turn out reminiscent of "The Tell-Tale Heart" ("for it was not the man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye"). Of all the faces on Teen Wolf, Derek's face stands out to me as particularly easy to read, or at least it's particularly horrible at hiding emotions, which is something that Kate would not be able to understand, but would be able to take advantage of.


End file.
